


Everything You Touch

by denatured



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: 90's-verse, Academic Realism, Campus Fiction, Campus Grit, Dingy Apartment Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jack Is Still A Good Guy, Kitchen Sink Drama, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Pre-Harley Quinn, Pre-Joker, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Sex With A Survivor, Sexual Trauma, Slow Burn, Smut, Stripper!Harleen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29565411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denatured/pseuds/denatured
Summary: Harleen and Jack confront their struggle with intimacy, forcing Harleen to reveal parts of herself that she hadn't anticipated.TW: Reference to childhood sexual abuse. Graphic depiction of young adult sexual abuse.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Kudos: 18





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place sometime after the events of Graded (https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798383).

Harleen turned in bed, pulling the duvet over her shoulders. The _clanking_ of the radiator in the corner of the bedroom bounced off the sighing walls. Tiredness sat in between her bones. It reeked off the mattress, hanging in the stale air. She mumbled something softly as her breathing deepened. Harleen had only gotten home a few hours ago; it was half past eleven on a Monday night. There was a thick coat of snow blanketing the crooked streets leading up to her apartment. On nights like this, Gotham hushed as snow collected on its garbage can lids and highrise rooftops. Harleen arrived at her doorstop earlier that night soaked in the fresh snow and light rain, the wet cold seeping into her clothing. With a groan, she immediately tossed her mixed fabric coat, high-waisted, boot-cut Guess jeans, flimsy black panties onto the space heater and hopped into a steaming shower, her nightly ritual.

For Harleen, showers were a small sigh from her crapshoot life, a sanctuary in the storm. She wanted to unravel whenever she stood under the showerhead. She performed any manner of poses just to open, _crack_ , stretch, and release her tightly wound body. She was exhilarated by the rush of blood to the surface of her pale skin. She even enjoyed the feeling of losing her breath as the steam swelled behind the curtain, often leaving her dizzy. It was her secret since she was a toothless girl in Canarsie. Oh, Sharon would give her judgmental glances whenever she'd bounce down to the living room with flushed skin, shorts, and broad scratches displayed across her thighs and chest. _Be respectful, Frances. What would Deda think?_

 _Fuck_ him, and _fuck_ what anyone thought. 

On this Monday evening, Harleen undulated her spine, firmly pressing her palms against the mildewed tiles of the shower. _Thoracic extension_. She leaned deeply into the high-pressured stream, the white noise muting her racing thoughts. She moaned as she felt the wiry muscles along her back and hips expand and contract. The water thumped against her tailbone. She felt a flush of heat in her core and slid a finger against her damp folds. She hesitated briefly. _There's no one here._ Even though she still felt the ache of _something_ in her bones, she rubbed herself impatiently. “ _Shit_ ,” she muttered. She slid a finger inside of herself. Jack hadn’t slept over in the last three days since he was wrapping up a set of experiments and needed to keep his head down. Well, _both_ heads down. And it usually wasn’t much of a, uh, problem: Harleen had enough contact with her patrons- underaged brothers, estranged fathers, and sleazy beefeaters- down at G.A.B.I. She had exclusive access to any size, shape, or fantasy that was crawling along the rat-run streets of Gotham.

In fact, she had a Grade A, nonpareil, _jewel_ of a pussy that attracted Wayne Enterprise contractors like a fuckin’ magnet. Call it celebrity, but Harleen was widely considered a "gifted" performer at Grin and Bare It. But this only made moments with Jack- and herself- even harder. She didn’t have to think with her patrons; she didn’t have to be Har _leen_ Frances at all. She could drift away, spit out a few lines, and _end scene_. But with Jack, she had to be herself- whatever that was. Being so brutally Harleen made it difficult for them to get any closer. She knew it, and it was tugging away at the seams of her own goddamn sanity. There’s a reason why they hadn’t _fucked_ yet. She wanted to, and she salivated over it. Though whenever the chance presented itself, she’d run cold. He’d seen her do it before. It was a mouthful to describe, but her body would just come to a grinding halt. He must’ve thought that she was a freakshow or somethin’. She even practiced in the shower as a warmup, like tonight. The undergraduate guidance counselor, Patrice (God _bless_ ,) even recommended it since it was safer than sleepin' around (not that Harleen didn't sleep around anyway.) Try as she might, Harleen still thought that he’d break-up with her like the last ones always did. To her surprise, it didn’t bother Jack that much. Nothing that she did ever _really_ bothered Jack that much. He’d get a little rough sometimes, but she knew that it was only because he cared.

_Whatever_. It had been a draining day of back-to-back meetings, and Harleen just wanted to sink into her mattress. After wobbling out of the shower and throwing on just a sweatshirt, she microwaved some leftover Chinese and scarfed down a few bites at the kitchen counter before chugging a can of seltzer water. She groaned as she shuffled into bed, drool stains on her pillows.

-

The phone rang, springing Harleen from oblivion. She gasped awake. “ _Fuck_ ,” she breathed as she reached over and grabbed the phone, bringing it to her ear. “Hello?” she croaked.

“In bed already?”

“ _Jack_ ,” Harleen whimpered hoarsely. She felt herself throb and crossed her legs beneath her sheets.

“I’m gonna be there in ten.”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Alright,” Jack hung up. Harleen dropped the phone back onto the hook and rolled back to her position in bed, drifting back to sleep.

Shortly after midnight, Jack stomped down the dimly lit hallway, grumbling. He pushed open the door to Harleen’s apartment and kicked off his snow-caked boots. He quickly bolted the lock with his red, frostbitten fingers. He kept tellin’ her that she oughta get another lock, just, uh, in case. You never _know_ these days. She said that she’d do it- promised, even. But, naturally, Harleen never did it. He’d probably have to muscle her up again in the morning. _His_ Harleen? She wouldn’t mind a few smacks every now and again. Oh, he could _tell_. She even liked it. _Whatta star_. He wanted to sink and bury his hands in those _fucked up_ memories of hers. What he wouldn’t give to figure out what made her tick, tick, tick.

He had to slow down. _Relax_. The last seventy-two hours were non-stop experiments. Milo cracked his whip for an upcoming grant deadline, and Jack was the only one who knew how to do the assay that Milo needed preliminary data for. Well, he was the only one that Milo would _allow_ to do it since he didn’t trust Ricky ( _oi!_ ). But Jack was a sain _t_ , and he gave Slick some crumbs. He gave him two-thirds of the analysis to do, and he ate right it up like the groveling bitch that he was. But Jack had to hand it to him, though: the kid had spirit. That would be useful down the line.

Jack sighed and walked into the living room. He rolled his backpack off his shoulder and onto the sofa. He shrugged off his soaked jacket, tossing it on the space heater along with her clothes. He gave a lopsided grin when he saw her panties on the heater along with her jeans. This girl was _too_ much. He rolled his neck. After such a winded day, he wanted nothing more than to _get off_. He was fixated on the feel of her in his hands, curling and whining beneath him. He licked his lips. Too many of his tortured fantasies never saw the light of day. He knew that Harleen would love anything that he did- anything that he tried. He also knew that laying it all on the table in _simple terms_ might scare her away. 

Ricky was up his ass and in his ear about _it_. Jack would just give him a look, _the_ look, and the pipsqueak would scram. No more questions, no more buggin’, and no more searchin’ for feelers. His life with Harleen, all of his lives with Harleen, were private. Who woulda thought it’d be _so easy_?

Now, Harleen wasn’t that easy. No, no. Harleen was hard, delicate, rough, and tender, all at once, every second of the day. She was ca-ta-to-nic and vengeful, but then there were moments that she was the sweetest thing on this goddamn planet, making Jack’s heart close to bursting. He couldn’t keep up sometimes. As sick as he was for this sloppy, big-eyed little girl, Jack had to remind himself of one thing: he didn’t _like_ to be mean, but he _needed_ to be.

Jack swept his eyes across the dark and rubbed the back of his neck. He could still smell the leftover takeout wafting from the kitchen sink. He was hungry, but maybe they’d order from the diner on the corner of the other block. He knew a guy who’d be able to fix ‘em something at Devil’s hours. It was useful to network, even with the little guys runnin’ around Gotham.

Alright. Enough prologue. Jack could spend hours bending his thoughts and yelling at himself into submission. It was an acquired skill over the years that kept him on his toes, really. His latest bathroom mirror manifesto gave him a revelation: madness was like an aged whiskey. Or brandy. The circulating conversations in his head kept him as charming and delightful as ever for his special girl. He walked into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Harleen jumped awake, startled. She rolled over and propped herself up, rubbing her eyes. Jack walked over to her, tugging off his damp jeans and pullover.

_

“You gotta kick the door like that?” she asked, yawning. She gave him a once over, her sleepy brown eyes half-lidded.

“Yeah,” Jack smiled, pulling off his socks. She was so _funny_. Once he was in his boxers, he climbed into bed next to her. She scooted over to make room for him. He got under the duvet, and he turned to his side, opening his arm. Without a second thought, Harleen curled next to him, her back against his chest. He slid a wiry leg in between her legs and pressed himself against the small of her lower back. She always liked that. He held her tightly, his breath rolling across her shoulders as he soaked in her warmth. He tiredly leaned in and pressed his lips against the back of her neck. To his surprise- and Jack was rarely surprised these days- she rolled and pressed her bare ass against him. Oh, maybe she _was_ thinking what he was thinking. His resting arm was wrapped around her collapsed shoulders, holding her close. He leaned forward and kissed that sweet spot right beneath her jaw. He slid his free hand down to her hip. He gave her a rough squeeze, and she winced. He licked his lips and thrust into her, his grip tightening. Jack hummed. He leaned into her ear, “wanna mess around, _Quinzel_?”

“Mmm, I don’t know, J, it’s _real_ late-“ Harleen started.

“Don’t be a tease, you know that makes me, uh, mad,” Jack said, drumming his fingers on her hip. He was gettin’ harder by the minute, the smell of her cheap body wash making him dizzy with arousal.

“Yeah?” she asked innocently, wantonly pressing her tight ass against his erection. She loved playing these _little games_.

“Uh-huh. _Real_ mad.”

“Well, too bad,” Harleen shrugged, suddenly slipping out of his grip and scooting over to her side of the mattress. She propped herself on her elbows and looked at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She stuck her tongue out at him. Jack raised his brows and pulled back. Even in the dark, she could see the mock outrage on his face. She giggled. “Shop’s closed, Daddy. You know I have an early mornin’ tomorrow.”

Jack bit back his own laughter. He was on top of her within seconds, and she yelped in surprise. He leaned in to kiss her, and she turned her head against the pillow. “Nuh-uh,” she said playfully, “I’m serious!” She just _loved_ to make him mad. He couldn’t understand it. In a fluid motion, he pulled her sweatshirt over her head and caught her little wrists in a firm grip, pinning them above her head as she struggled beneath him. “Hey,” she said hotly, “what gives?” Jack chuckled, flicking his tongue against his teeth. He slid off his boxers, kicking them off the mattress. He pressed her thick thighs open with his knees, his freed erection aching for contact. She rolled beneath him and whined. He slid his fingers against her wide-open pussy, his knees still keeping her thighs apart. His fingers were slick as he rubbed her clit, watching her squirm beneath him. She was enjoying this more than she was letting on. “You like lyin’ to me, huh?” he asked as he slid a finger into her. She looked up at him, her expression hazy. “You just _want_ me to be mean, huh?”

He repositioned himself and roughly pressed his erection against her, rolling his hips desperately. He let out a low groan. She was burning beneath him. She opened her legs wider for better access as he thrust his hips. Harleen moaned. "You gonna be mean to me?" she asked. Harleen didn't know what she wanted to hear. Jack wanted nothing more than to press her into the mattress and fuck her, _no questions asked_. Maybe they’d get closer tonight than they had in the past. He couldn’t think that far anyway. She slid one leg over his narrow hip and resting her foot on the back of his calf, her toes curling. "Huh?" she whimpered as he slid roughly over her clit.

“Stop fuckin’ around, Harl,” Jack growled as he leaned into her again. He wanted to shut her up, just for a few minutes. She only got this _chatty_ when she wasn't into it. Jack was tempted to muscle her into the mattress and teach her a lesson. _Brat_. Well, she was _his_ brat. His elbows braced on either side of her. He tried to give her, uh, space. She started to meet him halfway, matching his pace and thrusting her hips so that the pressure hit her clit exactly where she needed it to. The mattress creaked loudly, its groaning bordering on obscene. Jack bit down on his lip. Harleen _really_ hoped that Jack was enjoying this. Perhaps she should ask? _No_ , that's so...

"Jack?" Harleen panted.

"Yeah, baby?" he said, his voice strained. He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth. 

"This okay?" 

" _No questions_."

 _Right_. She ground and rolled her hips fervently against him, the pressure tightening in her abdomen. Just as she was about to turn her head to dodge another kiss, he grabbed her hard by the hair and tugged. She cried out. He held her in place and kissed her deeply, his teeth clashing with hers. He slowed his movements. Maybe shifting pace would calm her down. Jack wasn't _entirely_ insensitive. After a brief moment of protest, she kissed him back fully, wrapping her legs loosely over his hips as he focused on the feel of her beneath him. She whimpered into the kiss, sliding an arm over his shoulders and slipping a hand into his damp waves. He greedily slid his tongue over her bottom lip and bit down. She giggled, and it made him throb. He thrust his tongue in, crashing against hers and drinking in her sweet, rotten taste. She groaned as he pressed her into the mattress. She felt like she was being swallowed by him, and she wanted nothing more. She _wanted_ this. She _had to_ want this. He gradually began to quicken his pace again. "Fuck," Harleen gritted. He snapped his hips as much as she would allow with her muscular legs wrapped around him, his dripping cock sliding against her swollen nub. With a small shift in angle, he could slip into her, finally, and it would be _real_. Maybe he'd make that mistake without telling her; maybe, just maybe, he'd do _it_. She wouldn't have to think. It would suspend this curse and make them both feel something _real_ instead of this teenage _wet dream_ that was their sex life.

He broke the kiss, a stretch of saliva growing as he pulled away. He sloppily kissed her blotchy red cheek, biting down on it hard and pulling. He was going to give her a bruise one of these days. She turned to him and smiled. She swore that she saw him smile back. He moved onto her neck, nipping and sucking on her jugular as he felt himself get closer. He pulled himself up to her ear and tugged on her earlobe. "Harl," he breathed. Harleen bit her lip. He slid a hand down and palmed one of her breasts, flicking his thumb over her hardened nipple. "Tell me what you want," he panted. "Keep goin'. J-just like that," Harleen raised her hips slightly, and she felt his bollocks slap into her slit. "Yeah?" he asked, thrusting erratically. Harleen nodded, voiceless, shutting her eyes tightly. 

She pulled on his hair and winced as he leaned in and mouthed a tender spot along her neck. She looked up at the white ceiling, the shadows jumping. She exhaled.

“Jack..?” she whimpered suddenly. The tension in between her legs rapidly began to dissolve, her hips slowing and lowering beneath him. “Jack,” she said more firmly, “I’m gettin'-”

“Shut up,” he mumbled as he pulled away from her neck and kissed her again, muffling her protests as he slid two fingers into her. She was so _needy_. Her hips bucked against him as he buried his fingers into her deeply, curling them. She hissed and brought her hands down. She grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “Stop,” she breathed. “I’m serious.” She came to a stop beneath him and turned her head away from him. _Shit_. This hadn’t happened in a while. _Don't overthink it, it's fine._ He pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing them dry against her thigh. A bolt of panic crawled up her neck and into her ears. She avoided eye contact with Jack and tried to find something else to look at in the room. She stared at the humming radiator. Jack looked down at her, trying to steady his breathing. She wasn’t sure if she should fight it and just finish. She didn’t want to make Jack upset over something _stupid_ anyway.

Jack propped himself on his elbows, repositioning Harleen beneath him. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked harshly. She shrugged, looking down. “You wanna stop?” She shook her head ‘no.’ Okay, well, Jack could try somethin’ else. He rested his forehead against hers. “What do you want?” he asked impatiently. Harleen couldn’t find the words to respond to him. He snaked a hand down and shoved two fingers into her. She was starting to tighten. “Like this?” he offered. He gave her a few quick pumps before she weakly grabbed his wrist, stopping him again. He looked down at her. “ _What_?” he asked. He wasn’t mad, not really, he was just confused. “Use your fucking words, Harl,” he breathed. He pulled up a sweaty hand and cupped her cheek. She looked at him blankly.

“Sorry,” Harleen said quietly.

“Did I do something?” Jack asked, his voice strained but softer than before.

Harleen shook her head. She tried to think quickly. “Wanna do it?” she suggested meekly.

“ _What_?” Jack blurted out, pulling away from her.

“Uh-huh,” Harleen nodded, trying to smile. She felt fuckin’ awful, the memories just swelling in her chest. Nope, nope, nope- she’ll just ride this out, Jack’ll be happy.

“ _No_ , Harl, not- I’m not…” Jack said, looking at her wildly.

“Jack, come on, I’m _ready_. It won’t be bad, I promise,” Harleen pleaded. Jack looked down at her.

“You’re fucking nuts, you know that?” he said as he positioned herself at her opening. “I know,” she breathed. She started counting in her head. _One, two, three, four…_

He looked down at her. “You _really_ sure?”

“Shut up and fuck me already before I get _real_ mad,” Harleen snapped at him.

Jack laughed dryly. “Whatever you say, baby. Over here,” he said. She looked up at him. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers. She slid her arms over his shoulders and held on tightly. She hooked her leg over his hip. _It'll be fine_. Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed into her. He only got so far before he was met with firm resistance. She gasped sharply, and he deepened the kiss, muffling her groan. He pushed again, pressing them into the mattress for support. She cried into him, a bolt of pain zigzagging through her core. It became difficult to breathe as Jack’s weight multiplied on top of her petite frame. She whimpered. He clung to her, and with a final thrust, he sank in. He held his breath and broke away immediately. She was so painfully tight, his head was spinning. He rested his head against the pillow and tried not to come. “Christ,” he hissed. She started to hyperventilate, her grip like a vice on his shoulders. She forced her eyes shut as the room seemed to grow smaller around the two of them. She exhaled shakily, the pain curling its way along her thighs. She could _do_ this. Jack raised himself up and looked down at her, trying to focus on her face as the pressure built along his temples. He couldn’t read her expression. With an effort, he pulled out slightly. It was nearly impossible to move. He swore under his breath.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence. He lightly patted Harleen's cheek, and she opened her dark eyes. She wasn't there anymore. “Harl, it’s _me_.”

She frowned and felt her lips begin to quiver. “I know,” she whispered. She couldn’t believe herself right now. She just couldn’t stand her body shutting down on her over and over and _over_ again.

Jack wanted to give it one more shot. He pulled out a bit more before thrusting into her. He grunted loudly. He was getting frustrated, she knew it. It was over. She quickly shook her head and sniffed, wiping her eyes. She couldn’t do it anymore. “Stop,” she croaked out. “I don’t, I don’t think-“ she stammered, her throat tightening. Jack promptly slid out of her and rolled off with a exasperated sigh. 

Silence. Harleen sat up and folded over, her face in her hands. She wanted to bawl, but she couldn’t. Again. Even this, something so _insignificant_ as crying, any sort of release from this towering self-loathing and rage, her body wouldn’t give to her. The air in the room was sharp and thick, sour and ashy. The static in the air was roaring in her ears. She turned to look at Jack, his dark eyes staring back at her. He didn’t look like _anything_ , and she didn’t want to stay here and figure it out. He ghosted his calloused fingers over her back, his touch burning against her flushed skin. “I have to go,” she said. She swung her legs over the bed and stood up, pain shooting and radiating from what just transpired. She swore. She bit her lip and limped to the bathroom, slamming the door. “Fuck,” Jack sighed. He rubbed his hands over his face tiredly. He sat up, searching for his boxers. He grabbed them and pulled them on. He got up and stretched, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. He walked over to the bathroom. 


	2. Two

“I’m going to Dominic’s and then to see auntie Rachelle, Frannie. Stay with papa, okay?” Sharon said as she grabbed her pocketbook off the dining room table and popped a strawberry Mentos in her mouth. Four-year-old Harleen nodded, kicking her chubby legs back and forth off of one of the plush dining room chairs. She was powdered up and dressed to the nines: thick, white stockings, a violet corduroy dress, and an egg white turtleneck. She wore little gold hoops and a matching gold bracelet. Her restless brown curls were pulled back in a navy velvet headband. She was fiddling with the tube of cherry chap stick that her mother had given her the other day. She rolled it in and out of the magenta tube, sloppily applying it to her lips and giggling. “Mommy, _lookit_ ,” Harleen said, puckering her lips. “Make sure you don’t eat it before you get sick, then we gotta take you to the hospital,” Sharon huffed, slipping on her weekend loafers. Harleen frowned. “Marty,” Sharon hollered as she leaned down to kiss Harleen’s cheek, “ _I’m leaving_.”

“Yeah,” Marty hollered back, slinking into the dining room. He rested an arm on the chair that Harleen was sitting on, giving Sharon a light wave. “We’ll be _fine_ , honey.” Sharon looked at him warily as she placed her hand on the doorknob. “She likes her Cheerios before dinner, not after, and don’t forget her-“

“Sharon, _please_ , what kinda schmuck do ya take me for? I’m real _good_ with kids, and Frannie loves uncle Marty, ain’t that right, Frannie?” Marty leaned down to pinch Harleen’s cheek, but she pulled away. “Aw, Frannie, don’t be sad, mama’s gonna be back before you know it.” Marty leaned down and picked Harleen up off the chair. He held her on his waist, his hand resting on her backside. He drummed his ringed fingers over her, bouncing her on his hip. Harleen kept her bright brown eyes on her mother. “Give me a kiss to show mama that you’re gonna be good,” Marty smiled, leaning his cheek close to her. “Go on, Frannie,” Sharon cooed, nodding at Harleen. Harleen smiled toothily and pressed her waxy lips against Marty’s spray-tanned cheek. “Ah-ha! See! There’s my good girl,” Marty laughed, his saliva spraying Harleen’s face. She wiped her cheeks with her hands. “ _Yuck_ ,” she spat. Sharon laughed and sighed. “She’s such an angel. Okay, I’ll be back in a few, you two. See you later,” Sharon said as she stepped through the door. “Bye!” Harleen waved. The door slammed shut. Marty looked down at Harleen, pinching her nose. She giggled softly. “We’re gonna have a lotta fun today, Frannie. I have a new game that I want us to try…”

-

A thirteen-year-old Harleen woke up, startled. She felt a sharp pain _down there_. She tumbled out of bed and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. “Don’t slam, Fran, what’s wrong with you? _Deda_ is sleeping!” Sharon screeched from her room. “Sorry!” Harleen yelled out, pulling up the toilet seat and pulling down her panties. She relieved herself, or tried to. She felt a sharp pain that knocked the wind out of her lungs. “Oh, my God, what is that?” she said to herself, her nerves beginning to fry. She stood up to wipe herself off uncomfortably. She looked down at the toilet bowl to see that it was cloudy with blood. She gasped, backing herself into the sink. “ _Mom_?” she screamed, reaching for the faucet behind her. “ _Mom_!”

-

“Oh, Frannie,” Marty moaned, leaning back into the driver’s seat. The summer heat sweltered into the Audi. They were parked somewhere off the Palisades with a sparkling view of the city. A sixteen-year-old Harleen looked up at him, flashing him those eyes. He tightened his grip on her curls. “Just like I t-taught you, angel, you’re such a-a, ah, _fuck_.” Harleen bobbed her head down onto Marty’s cock, pressing her tongue down and taking in his whole length. He hit the back of her throat. She adjusted the angle so that she could get him deeper- she read about it in _Cosmo_. Saliva ran from her mouth and dripped onto the car seat. She moaned, feeling wetness pool into the crotch of her stockings. He began to thrust gently into her mouth, hitting her throat as Harleen suddenly gagged. “Mm, I love that, Fran, keep making that sound,” Marty groaned. “Give it to me _real good_ , angel, just like that,” he forced out as he began to twitch in her throat. Harleen tried to calm herself down and focus on breathing through her nose. Good, she thought impulsively. Maybe she was better at this than she thought.

-

Harleen leaned face-first into her textbook. She could feel her eyes glossing over the walls of text that were so eloquently describing the fundamentals of pharmacokinetics. She sat alone in the breakroom on a late Tuesday evening, sipping on cold, watered down coffee and nibbling on a leftover Mars bar that she saved from yesterday's lunch. No amount of the Lord's caffeine could pull her through the next twenty pages of reading, but she was going to try anyway. It was only the second week of classes. 

She didn't hear the footsteps behind her as she started to doze. "Workin' hard, kid?" Harleen felt the hot breath hit her ear before she could understand what was being said. " _Fuck_ ," she jumped nervously, her head hitting the crooked source of the voice in question with a solid _thunk_. The tall, angular man winced sharply, stepping back, holding his left eye. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry!" Harleen squeaked, snapping her textbook shut and springing out of her chair. She turned around and quickly stepped over to him. He raised a hand to stop her, laughing. He looked at her with one eye, his ashy waves framing his tired face. He smiled at her, almost boyishly. "I like a girl who plays rough, but I didn't expect a black eye this early," he said. Harleen's stomach churned. "I'm really sorry, _honest_. I thought that I locked the door, and-"

"It was," he said. He pulled a heavy keychain out of his pant pocket decorated with as assortment of keys. He jingled it in front of her before stuffing it back into his pocket.

Harleen's eyes widened. "How'd you get that?" she asked, surprised. 

He chuckled. "Shouldn't you be at home playin' with your _Barbies_ or somethin'?"

 _Oh, so he was an asshole- what a shame_. "Can't work at home," Harleen said simply, leaning against the table. The man pulled his hand away from his eye. It was slightly swollen. He stood straighter, rolling his shoulders back. He wasn't that bad looking. _Stop it, Harleen_. "Well," he started, detecting the awkward silence, "I'd love to discuss the weather with you some more, uh-"

"Harleen."

"Har _leen_ ," he said mockingly, "but I'm just here for some coffee." 

"Let me make you one- please? I feel so bad 'bout your eye, I really didn't mean it."

He looked at her with a confused look on his face. She was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a tight black t-shirt. Her dark brown curls were partially straightened, falling in a frizzy cascade over her shoulders. She wore little gold hoops, their shine contrasting with her mournful, dark eyes. She looked at least thirty, but she sounded seventeen. 

"That a yes?" Harleen asked, walking over to the coffee machine. 

" _Uh_... okay. But don't fuck it up, _Punky_ , I can see your hands shakin' over there."

"Nervous habit," Harleen said coolly as she spooned the coffee grounds into fresh filter paper. 

"I make you nervous, huh?"

"A little, _but_ I just headbutted you in the eye. Guess we're even?" Harleen turned to him and gave a small smile.

A slow smile crept along Jack's face. "I _like_ you." 

-

Jack turned the door knob. It was locked. He rattled the knob and slapped the door with his palm. “Harleen?” he called firmly. He slapped the door again. “ _Harl_.”

Harleen was leaning in front of the toilet seat, dry heaving. She had thrown an old _GAP_ t-shirt over herself and thrust two sweaty fingers down her tongue. The contents of her stomach shot up her throat, and she vomited the leftover Chinese into the toilet bowl. Jack muttered to himself. “Harl, _stop that shit_ , and open the fucking door already.” Harleen gasped, shakily holding onto the rim of the toilet bowl as she spat any remaining trace of vomit from her mouth. Her face crumpled as the acidity burned the back of her nose. She sniffed; she finally felt tears swell in her eyes. She held onto the rim to steady her trembling as the sobs violently swept through her chest. She thought that she could hear Jack, but her ears were ringing. There was no turning back now. _This_ was over, and she knew it. “Jack,” Harleen gasped between sobs, “j-just go home.”

Jack rolled his eyes and cursed beneath his breath. “ _Sugar_ , I’m not mad. Open the door,” he said again, trying his _best_ to sound calm.

“ _No_ ,” Harleen yelled harshly, “ _I don’t feel good_ , just _go home_! I don’t _wanna_ -“ 

“For fuck’s sake…” Jack muttered. _This girl was going to kill him if she didn't kill herself first._ He stepped away from the door and rolled his shoulders. He sharply turned his neck, cracking it. He shoved himself into the door shoulder first. It shot open.

“Shit,” Jack muttered, rubbing his shoulder as he stepped into the bathroom. Harleen’s jaw dropped. “I’m gonna have to fix that now, _you prick_!” Harleen shouted through her tears as she sat in a heap of limbs on the soiled bathroom floor, the smell of her vomit hanging in the air. Jack rolled his eyes, closed the door behind him, and leaned in, flushing the toilet. Harleen wiped her eyes and closed the lid with a _thud_ that bounced off the tiles. She crawled up onto the cold toilet seat as Jack stepped in front of her, leaning against the sink. Harleen quickly looked down and fumbled with her hands. She tried to take long, deep breaths, but her whimpers started and stopped- almost out of nowhere. She was in a daze that _this_ was even happening.

Jack looked down at her, arms crossed. Harleen sat awkwardly in his towering shadow as her thoughts grew increasingly entangled. The coolness of the toilet seat pressed against her, sending a dull shock through her core. Everything felt too much; _she_ felt too much. She didn’t want to hear him speak right now, not after that. Nothing after that.

She sniffed. “Go home,” she said finally.

“ _No_.”

Harleen looked up at him, her face swollen. Jack felt _funny_. Something like rage coursed through him whenever he saw her like this. It infuriated him to see her caught in a web of fragmented memories that eroded her reality. He knew that he wasn't standing in front of Harleen, the twenty-five-year-old; he was standing in front of Harleen, the vengeful teenager from Canarsie who stretched twenty dollars a week and didn't have any friends at school. It was that Harleen who could still feel Marty and his cousins in between her thighs every time Jack touched her. She was volatile and tender, and there was a part of him that wanted to erase those hideous memories and see her smile again. 

And then there was another part of him that wanted to laugh. 

He wanted to laugh with his whole soul at her in that moment. _Weak_ Harleen. A slut well-versed in her own victimhood and chasing a pipe dream because she had something to prove to everybody. Someone addicted to mediocrity and desperate for attention. _Right_. He wanted to spit in that bloated, haggard face and force her into reality. He wanted to throw her on that bathroom floor and-

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, roughly picking at the beds of her nails.

Jack was sucking on the inside of his cheek as he watched the car crash unfold in front of him. He squatted down in front of her. She avoided eye contact with him as he looked at her intently. He searched her face, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of dyed hair behind her ear. Her cheeks reddened as she felt another sob lodge its way into her throat. Her face crumpled. “This is stupid,” she whined, defeated. She looked at him, slapping her trembling hands against her thighs in tired frustration. “Just g-go home or fuck someone _normal_ like-“

“ _Hey_ ,” Jack said, grabbing her wrists just as she was able to slap herself again. “Do I look like a _normal guy_ to you?”

Harleen looked at him through bloodshot eyes and pouted. “Don’t play games right now…“

“I’m serious, Harl,” Jack said calmly. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” she said as if she was stating the obvious. Well, it _was_ obvious.

Jack laughed. “You really think a _normal guy_ would put up with a piece of work like you? _Huh_?” Harleen turned her head away and faced the door. She couldn’t look at him in the eye; the concern, or what looked like concern, on his face was overwhelming. She wanted to scowl, but her mouth didn’t cooperate. She smirked slightly but quickly bit down on her lip as a fresh wave of tears surfaced.

“Oh, what was that?” Jack said, forcing a smile at her. He released her wrists and reached up to pinch her cheek. She slapped his hand away. “Jack, _cut it out_ ,” she whined, turning to him. “I’m _not_ a baby. I know you’re tryna do right by me, but I just can’t… I just… I’m such a _fucking freak_ ,” her face crumpled into her hands as she swallowed another sob. Jack’s face fell. He _really_ couldn’t understand her sometimes. 

He grabbed Harleen’s wrists more tightly than before and pulled her hands away from her reddened, sticky face. She coughed and tried to steady her breathing. “So what if you’re a freak, huh? What’s so _bad_ about that?”

“ _Everything_!” Harleen blurted out, outraged. “I can’t do anything right, nothing’s working, this Ph.D _thing_ is a joke, and I can’t even make my _boyfriend_ come without feeling like… like… like a clown!” Her eyes bore into him as she waited to hear his response.

Jack scoffed and raised his brows, nodding thoughtfully. “A clown, huh?” If there was one thing that Jack deserved a medal for, it was for taking the most gruesome, heart-wrenching situations and escalating them to a level of ridiculousness that she could never top. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Harleen said forcefully. “A _real joker_ , that’s what. I’m kidding myself… I-” 

“ _Hmm_ ,” Jack hummed, not entirely listening. He reached up and pressed his thumbs against the corners of her lips, forcing them upwards into a smile. He cocked her head to the side, leaning over to give her a glance over. “Not bad for a clown,” he said. She scowled and roughly shoved his hands away. Jack laughed. Harleen let out a shaky sigh and glared at him through darkened eyes. She shook her head, outstretching a hand to ruffle his unruly hair. “You’re a fuckin' clown, too, I guess.”

“Astute observation, Doc…” Harleen rolled her eyes and giggled at that, giving him a crooked smile. _That’s it_. That’s what he was pushing for. He loved when she looked at him like that. Maybe he might as well, uh, do it. He got on his knees and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the tops of her thighs. He was face to face with her now. It was far too much for Harleen, but she didn’t turn away. She didn’t want to. “You know what I think, Harl?” Jack asked quietly.

Harleen shook her head. She was self-conscious of the reek of vomit hanging in the air between them. She held her breath and prepared to listen.

“ _I_ think you… you worry too much. You’re always thinkin’ some big, _bad_ thing is gonna happen, right?” Jack asked.

Harleen stared uncomfortably at Jack, unsure of how to respond. “ _Right_ ,” he continued. “But those big, bad things already happened, didn’t they?”

She couldn’t listen to this anymore. “Jack,” she turned away from him, “you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about-“

“Prove it-“

“ _I shouldn’t_ have to!” Harleen snapped suddenly. “I shouldn’t have to prove anything to anyone, especially _you_.” Harleen was seething now, her temper sparking off of her skin as she glared at Jack. The tornado burned in her chest, and she couldn't remember if she was breathing.

“Harleen,” Jack started calmly, “you know what I see when I look at you?”

“No, I don’t,” Harleen said.

“I see someone who got a really bad shot at life. I’m not kidding. You had it hard, and I know that you’re still, uh… working through it. _I get it_.” Harleen looked at Jack, dejected but curious. Her breathing began to steady.

“That’s what makes you fuckin’ perfect for me, Harl. Really,” he laughed lightly, “I mean it. If there’s anyone in this goddamn town who could understand a minute of your life, wouldn’t it be me?”

Harleen gave a shaky sigh and swallowed. 

-

Harleen quickly pressed his number into her telephone and held it to her ear, sniffing loudly. She sat by the kitchen counter with a bottle of beer in her hand. It rang twice before he answered.

"Hello?" his deep voice cracked over the staticky line.

"Jack, c-can you come over?" Harleen asked quickly. She bit her lip and tried to hold back a sob. 

"Hey, hey, _hey_ , what's going on? Harl, where are you?" he asked.

"I'm home now... I was with a friend-"

She could hear Jack _tsk_ and suck his teeth. " _Which_ friend?"

"It doesn't matter-"

"Harl, how many times have I told you about your stupid fucking friends? All they do is shoot up all day and-"

"Stop," Harleen said firmly. "That's n-not what I want to hear right now, Jack."

Jack muttered something that she couldn't hear. "What?" Harleen asked.

" _Nothing_. So what happened?"

"I almost got mugged... I'm fine now, really, I am. But I still feel shook up, I don't know... Come over, please?" Harleen hiccupped as she took a swig of her beer.

Jack paused. "You're real lucky that I wasn't busy tonight."

"Thank God," Harleen sighed.

"I'll be there soon. Keep the door locked-"

"Do you have your key?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll see you in a bit..." Harleen hesitated before she hung up. "I lo-" 

"I know, baby. Just keep the door locked." 

-

“It would,” she started, the sound of her voice suddenly so foreign, “it would, um… _always_ be you.”

“You sure 'bout that?” Jack asked.

“I’m more than sure, Jack.”

“I’ve gone through a lot, too. You know… some of it. I’m not exactly an open book. What can I do? The emotional _thing_ never really sat right with me… But I can promise you that I _get it_. And if that makes you, uh, _clown_ , then we’re both clowns, huh?” Jack looked at her, a sudden desperation in his eyes.

Harleen weakened her resolve, the tension unlocking from her shoulders. She gave a weak, lopsided smile. “Yeah... Yeah, I guess so.” 

Jack pulled away and stood up, offering her a hand. Harleen took it, standing. She started to wobble as she felt throbbing in her groin. Jack grabbed her shoulders and started to walk her out of the bathroom.

"Jack," Harleen started as they approached her bedroom door, "I have to... tell you what happened."

Jack knew what she meant.

"There'll always be time for that, Harl. It's time to put the freak to bed." Harleen playfully slapped him in the stomach as they walked back into the bedroom.


	3. Epilogue

Jack rolled over, outstretching his arm to the other side of the mattress. He patted his hand around. He grumbled something, his eyes fluttering open. "Harl?" he mumbled sleepily. He saw that her side of the bed was empty. Jack opened his eyes fully and propped his head up, looking around the room. "Harl?" he said loudly, his throat hoarse. He coughed into his fist. "Out here," he heard Harleen call airily, her voice echoing from the living room. Jack sat up and turned his head to look at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand beside the bed: 5:47AM. Jack swung his legs off the mattress and walked lazily into the living room. He stood by the bedroom doorframe, catching a glimpse of Harleen on the sofa, legs crossed, and drinking a large mug of coffee. The smell of dark roast wafted deliciously throughout the living room. Her hair was already done into a tight bun, and she was watching what sounded like Looney Tunes. Jack walked into the room and over to the sofa, scratching his chest. She looked up at him and smiled. He collapsed next to her and leaned into the back of the sofa, his eyes glazing over the fast-paced images of Bugs Bunny and his slapstick mischief flashing on the television screen.

"Ain't it too early for Bugs, Harl?" he asked tiredly.

"Nope, never," she giggled as she leaned into him and kissed his cheek. She crawled into his lap, and he wrapped his arms loosely around her as they both watched the television. "Coffee?" she asked as she brought the mug to his face. "Yeah," he said quietly as he grabbed it from her, taking a mouthful. He grimaced, immediately handing it back to her. "What?" she asked.

"What the _fuck_ kinda creamer is that?" he spat, clicking his tongue noisily. Harleen bit her lip to avoid laughing. "The shit people get away with sellin' these days is unbelievable..." he grumbled.

"It's the Coffee Mate _French_ Vanilla," Harleen said matter-of-factly, "it's _fancy_."

"It's _shit_ ," Jack corrected.

Harleen huffed. " _Whatever_. _I_ really like it. I wanted to try something different-"

"Doesn't mean you need to drink half a bottle of it every time, Harl. Christ."

"I needed something to perk me up this morning," she said, adjusting herself to rest her back against his bare chest. He slid his arms over her stomach, holding his wrist. "It settled my stomach after last night."

Jack blinked. _That._ Jagged memories of the last few hours replayed in his head. Harleen leaned her head against his shoulder, sipping on her coffee. Her laughter rang in his ears. "Ain't that funny, pud'?" she asked, looking up at him. "Yeah, yeah," he started, "listen, Harl, I... you, uh... feelin' okay?" 

Harleen shrugged. "I guess. I don't know." She took a deep sip of her coffee, the smell of artificial vanilla hitting Jack in the face. "You want me to talk to you about it?" she added.

"It's not about _me_ , Harl. I don't know, do whatever you want."

Harleen turned her head and looked at him curiously. "If I say something stupid, it might piss you off."

She was so _in her head_. "It's not even six in the morning," Jack shot back, "where am I gonna go, huh?

"You _know_ what I mean," Harleen said.

"Harl," Jack said, an edge in his voice.

"Alright," Harleen said, leaning forward to place her mug on the coffee table. She returned to her position and rested her head against Jack's shoulder. "Okay," she said, steadying herself. "I told you about Canarsie before-"

"You did," Jack nodded.

"I, uh... didn't tell you all of it... I-"

" _Cut to the chase already_."

" _Jack_ ," Harleen whipped her head around and raised her hand at him, ready to strike. Force of habit. Jack licked his lips, slightly amused. "One punch, and you'll back in Canarsie. Don't even try it."

Harleen rolled her jaw tensely and returned to resting against his chest. " _So_..." she continued, slightly agitated, "Marty was my step-father. He... He molested me as a child."

"That part was obvious."

Harleen shook her head, ignoring him. "It never really, uh... stopped? I don't know. He was always _there_. He was the first person that I ever had sex with. I was... fourteen? Fifteen? I don't remember, it's all... blurry. Shit got worse once mom caught us in the Audi. I didn't really know what to do after that. Things changed real quick. I-"

"Harl," Jack interrupted.

"What?" Harleen asked.

"You don't have to keep going, you know. I'm not stupid."

"But-"

"Look," Jack pulled Harleen's hands away from her lap and held them in front of her. They were flushed, red, and trembling. She hadn't noticed.

"They're always like that," Harleen defended, turning her head away in annoyance.

"Not this bad," he said.

He wasn't wrong. Her trembling resembled a soft tremor. Harleen scoffed, pulling her hands away from him. She sat up. She sighed. "I'm really trying, Jack."

"I know," he said, "all I'm sayin' is that you don't need to." She looked at him. He gave her a small smile, reaching up to squeeze her nose playfully. Harleen gave him a lopsided grin. "Okay," she said. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly. After a few moments, she inhaled deeply. "Thanks," she mumbled into the crook of his neck.

"You can thank me by throwing away that creamer." Harleen pulled away and scowled, ready to argue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone: thank you so much for reading. As one can imagine, this was difficult to write. The Harleen in our (mine and Ornelasse's) universe is a survivor of childhood - young adult sexual trauma, and it's critical to explore her recovery in a realistic way. If you have any input, suggestions, or comments, I'd be happy to read them! I'm a survivor myself, so I'm trying to write this in a way that's both sensitive & nuanced. If this as triggering at all to read- please take care of yourselves! xoxo.
> 
> If you'd prefer to send a DM or prompt (!) over Tumblr, you can reach me at https://synapticjive.tumblr.com/. Will aim to start building a profile around our upcoming series of stories in this 90's-verse and am so excited to share it with you all!


End file.
